The Tunnels of Fear
by the other ghost girl
Summary: Lestrade tells Sherlock about a case of what appears be vampires in the UK. At first, Holmes is dubious about the case, but as he examines the victims, more and more details come to light that lure Holmes closer to the killer behind this brutal string of murders; but not everything is as it seems, and if John and Sherlock are going to survive, they must team up with an unusual ally
1. Chapter 1

**Sherlock glared at the body at his feet. Lestrade had promised him something unusual, not something so... well stereotypical. A town with hundreds of years of vampire themed urban legends experiences a series of bloodless murders? **

Normally he'd be thrilled at the prospect of such a case, it obviously involved a cult, or a deranged, albeit clever lunatic.

Those were always such a FUN nut to crack.

However once he'd seen crime scene photos, his mood changed. Despite the lack of blood it looked more like an animal had been gnawing at the poor fool's throat than a practiced hand slicing a jugular, and judging by the crime scene it was found at (a small creek that had recently swollen past it's banks with a heavy storm) well as the rate of decomposition, it was quite possible that the killer was a wild dog, or a bear, and that the lack of blood was a simple matter of it bleeding out, which any good coroner could determine if they weren't thinking of demons and spooks already.

Sherlock decided to humor the local law enforcement and examine the body a little closer, as if anything he found wasn't going to reinforce his theory.

Unfortunately what he found managed to do just that.

The dead man's throat had been mangled, but the bruising suggested that either he had a "friend" (possibly romantic interest) which had a little too in to role playing, or the someone had latched onto the wound and and sucked on it.

The bruising suggested that the incident had happened very shortly before death, meaning that the vampiric role playing, at least of the harmless variety, was out of the question, leaving his killer as the culprit. As he looked closer at the wound, he noticed something that wasn't apparent from the photos, the bite marks on the neck were definitely human.

Although Sherlock tried to remain professional, he couldn't help the hint of a smile to form on his lips as he started to dial John's number.

Let the game begin.


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson had been checking into the hotel when Sherlock called, it took him several more minutes, and several more texts to get their room in order than it would have otherwise, and once that was done he decided to go to the police station rather than take any of the bags up.

Once he'd gotten there he was ushered to the morgue by a very irritated police chief.

The mortician practically ran out of the door when he saw the chance to be reprieved.

Sometimes he forgot that Sherlock was five times more irritating to people who HADN'T gotten used to his mannerisms.

He looked across the room to see that Sherlock was hovering over three corpses with mangled throats, he noticed him and beckoned him to come closer

"John, what do these bodies have in common?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

Watson sighed, it was obvious he was going to be playing the skull again, so he decided to point out

the obvious.

"The mangled throats?" he asked, hopefully.

"No, look a little closer, ignore the obvious and look at their faces."

John sighed again and tried to repress his gag reflex as he leaned in close to the partially decomposed

corpse's face.

At first he was looking for something subtly obvious, like a lotus tattoo, or identical earrings, but then he noticed something very subtle.

"is it these scars on their faces?" He asked.

Sherlock nodded with approval.

"All three of our victims have three small scars in the same place, on the same cheek. Now, normally, I'd assume that a cat did it, or possibly a tree branch,

or they even did it to themselves while they were sleeping. However, given the fact that ALL of our victims have them..."

John raised a dubious eyebrow. "You think the murderer did this?"

He nodded

"I believe that the killer is convinced that he is a vampire, and has taken to "marking"

his prey, so that he may better pursue the hunt."

John starred at Sherlock. "But, these scar have to be at LEAST three weeks old."

"What kind of predator doesn't enjoy a good hunt?"

* * *

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he looked around cautiously , just in case someone saw the man collapse. The authorities were more careful about watching the local drunks than usual, if he wasn't desperate, he would have fed from the bottled blood, but it was so close to going rancid, and he needed his strength. Once he was sure there were no cameras or witnesses he dragged the unconscious man further out of sight, and began to feed


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, so the chapters may be shorter than usual on all my stories as my cOmputer's hard drive's messed up and I'm writing w/ my phone until it's fixed or replaced. Don't worry though, everything's backed up, least for now**

Sherlock spent several more minutes in the morgue before telling the local law enforcement what he'd found, and heading back to the hotel. Sherlock was deep in thought, and John was keeping an eye out for a halfway decent restaurant, so they didn't realize that they had taken a wrong turn until they hit the dead end of the Alley.

Sherlock was calculating a quick and easy way make a short cut using the fire escapes when he heard a sound that made the hair on his neck stand on end.

It sounded very similar to the ticking of a clock , albeit more distorted and at a slightly higher pitch than normal, he turned sharply to the direction of the source of the noise.

Standing a few feet away was a short, overweight man with an grandfatherly appearance, he was wearing a hideous yellow rain slicker, and a pair of green wellingtons. As the man's head tilted in his direction and caught the light of a distant streetlight and his glasses glinted red.

"Ah Sherlock, and our dear, dear ... You two have created quite the buzz of late."

Sherlock shot a smile in the man's direction, making sure to endue it with the same amount of false warmth as the one the stranger was aiming at him

"ah, are you a fan? Well I'm afraid that we're quite busy, perhaps we can meet up for tea latter-"

"I'm afraid this can't wait boys, it's in relation to the vampire case"

John stiffened

"how would you know that?"

The man's smile got wider and more menacing, like a snake getting ready to eat a helpless bird, he started to advance closer to the pair.

"Oh I know quite a lot about you Sherlock, and even more about you, John. Enough to fill a book, not that I will, I'm afraid I'm not a big fan of

books. However, while your adventures are...entertaining to say the least, I'm afraid that you are encroaching on my territory now.

I will give you one last chance to leave, and go back to solving your little murder mysteries... But if you pursue this case, I'm afraid you'll become involved in

MY game, and trust me Boys, that is something you most certainly DO NOT want."

John drew himself in front of Sherlock. "How do we know that you're telling the truth"

John almost shrank back when the man turned his sights on him.

"What happened that last day in Afghanistan? An experienced professional solider like you, You should

have known better than to get into the line of fire... Then again, you always had to be the hero, didn't you John?"

Sherlock studied John's face, measuring his reaction to what the stranger was saying.

He noted that his face looked unusually pale.

"Shut up" He spat at the strange man, who merely sneered at him.

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

The man's facial expression changed to that of mocking desperation.

"Oh please help me man, my leg I think it's broken!" he said, mimicking the voice of a small child perfectly, and John's entire body tensed up.

"You managed to drag your entire team into a trap... Didn't you John? Two dead, and everyone else injured, because you just HAD to be the hero."

John lunged forward and grabbed the man by his rediculuos yellow raincoat. He sneered tauntingly.

"HOW CAN YOU KNOW THAT?!"

The man's grin widened, showing teeth that you could only tell at such a close distance, were ever so slightly stained red.

"I was there John, I've always been there. I was the monster under your bed, I'm the reason why you cried at night as an infant. To put it quite simply, my dear Watson,I'm as close as you will come to meeting the Devil himself."

Suddenly John wasn't holding the dangerous stranger anymore, the man was standing at the end of the alley way, fiddling with something in his hands, and watching them.

"Leave, call it a cold case, tell them you've gotten bored with it if you like, but continue to play with matters you won't understand, and you will forfeit your lives to MY tampering."

With that said, the man vanished.

John ran to the end of the alleyway and looked for a sign of where the man had gone, but Sherlock ignored him, He was thinking.

John came back several minutes later, out of breath.

"So what do we do?"

Sherlock gave him an exasperated look.

"We do as I've always done, We solve the case, and find out whoever that man was, and what his connection to the murders is"

"But what about-"

"John, The first, and most important thing you must learn about me, is that NO ONE, Not even Lestrade or Mycroft tells me what to do, and I'm not going to start with some amateur hacker."


	4. Chapter 4

After they had dragged what little equipment and clothing they brought with them up to their room, John was horrified to see that the hotel had given them a room with one bed rather than two.

Not that there was any chance of anything untoward happening, as John was (or at least was pretty sure that he was ) straight, and Sherlock had little interest in sex. But it was already a well established rumor that they were lovers, and this wouldn't help matters. Sherlock offered to sleep on the couch (which, they found out later turned out be a fold out) not that he would get any sleep; Sherlock was very engrossed in the case, and when that happened he'd been known to go several days without even looking at a bed.

To be honest, there were times that John wasn't entirely sure that Sherlock even NEEDED sleep, and only did so to humor the rest of the world.

John was well worn out after the five hour long drive it took to get out there,(he drove the whole way, as Sherlock was an even BIGGER maniac behind the wheel, and John had just paid a deposit on the car)

As well as the hour or so spent searching for the old man in the rain slicker; so he didn't bother with taking a shower, and slept in his clothes.

John woke up the next morning to Sherlock playing his violin. Normally this could be a pleasant, or at the very least tolerable, experience; But today wasn't a normal day.

Sherlock appeared to be composing some sort of unholy hybrid of "the devil went down to Georgia " and Mozart's symphony no.39, while glaring at a map of the city that had been pinned to the wall and marked with big red Xs.

John shouted a drowsily irritable "good morning" at Sherlock, and made his way to the coffee maker, hoping that the hotel had provided them with some halfway decent tea or coffee.

He was in the middle of wincing as the furiously out of tune melody echoed noisy in the bathroom while he filled the coffee pot in the sink, when he heard someone pounding on their door.

Knowing that it would be better to drop what he was doing than interrupt Sherlock, he opened the door to see a very irritated man standing in front of him in his boxers.

he stood about a foot or so above John, and his red, bagged eyes told John that Sherlock had woken him up as well.

He wore (aside from his boxers) a stained tank top that may have been white at some point, and a deep scowl that went well beyond skin deep. His bright orange hair (which, along with a particularly obvious facial scar, caused John to have to struggle not to stare) stuck up at the odd angles that were one of the many warning signs of bed head.

The man appeared to be somewhere in his late forties, and very very angry at being woken up.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? IT IS 4 AM"

John tried to calm the irritable stranger down.

"I'm sorry, I'll try to get him to quiet down"

The man glared at John

" TRY? Trying is not good enough, I am working the night shift tonight, and I do not want to chop off my hand because I dozed off on the assembly line." he shouted.

"THAT'S IT!" Sherlock shouted triumphantly.

The stranger looked even more confused than John did

"what?" they both said in unison.

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath and tore the map off the wall

"John we need to go to the Library. NOW!"

Sherlock barely gave him time to put on shoes before he grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him out of the room, just barely remembering to shut the door on his way out.

The stranger suddenly remembered his purpose and shouted at the quickly vanishing pair.

"KEEP IT DOWN, OR NEXT TIME I WILL CALL THE FRONT DESK!"


	5. Chapter 5

**hi y'all :D it's a me the author. Not to say that I own the rights to the characters nor the universes they come from. **

The man crawled out of bed again several hours later. He glared at the wall, as if he could see through it to the men who were staying there.

Luckily he had gotten enough sleep for the task at hand, as he was only tailing his target tonight. He wasn't planning on attacking his prey just yet, he needed to gain more intel so that he would be sure that he wouldn't be able to escape when he did strike.

The man checked the clock, and saw that it was about 4:45 pm, so he would have some time to take a shower, change into fresh clothes, and put on some cologne to mask his scent before the overweight butcher started making his way to his job at the local slaughter house.

After he'd put on some fresh clothes he looked at the old boxers and tank top he'd slept in, and winced.

It had been a long time since he had someone around to remind him to do things like wash his clothing, and he had been preoccupied as of late, but he made a note to make use of the hotel laundry before he tucked in for the day.

He stopped by a convience store on his way to the butcher's house and grabbed a box of crackers to eat on his way there ( he had practically been living on bottled blood his entire journey, and and he couldn't afford to eat anything more flavorful) he had finished the box, and had stopped to toss them in the trash can outside the library when he saw the two men from the hotel come out. He pulled his hat down a little lower and turned his back to them in an attempt to keep them from recognizing him.

He was about to leave when he caught a snippet of their conversation.

"it all makes SENSE John! Why else would all the victims be found in the waterways?"

He half flitted behind an decorative stucco on the library to hear better.

He wondered if they were talking about the "Vampire murders" as they were called.

The shorter of the two, hadn't the tall one called him "John", rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, we both know that a river or a creek is the best place to dispose of a body around here, it doesn't mean that the killer has been living in the sewers!"

The tall one, the man believed his name was Sherlock, gave an exasperated sigh.

" it's not just that John, the latest victim was only gone for a week when they found the body, but the decomposition was closer to a corpse that had been dead for three, the bacteria in the sewers could easily speed up the rate that much! It also explains how he can move through the city during the day"

John looked a little shocked "Sherlock you aren't saying that the killer is a real vampire are you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes

"yes and all of the bodies in the morgue are going to get up and start dancing to the 'Thriller'" he said sarcastically "of course not! But the killer obviously believes that he is, so unless he is a fan of "Twilight" he's either going to want to avoid the sun, it's possible that he even has Vampire's disease or a similar condition that he takes as confirmation, and since one of our victims went missing in broad daylight, he obviously has a way of moving about the city during the day with being seen or being in the sunlight"

"but wouldn't matience workers have stumbled on him by now?"

Sherlock shook his head

"no, you see this city has been a big city for several hundred years, so the sewer system is at least 100 years old. It's not uncommon to simply build

On old pipelines rather than repair them, their's likely to be miles of sewer down there that the city doesn't touch or doesn't know about."

The tall man smiled,

"But, luckily the city keeps the old building permits and blue prints for the sewers on file in the library as reference for contracters, now that we've got a copy of them, I can figure out where our friend is hiding"

The man almost lost his balance he was so surprised, luckily they didn't seem to notice him, although "Sherlock" had looked in his direction.

"We should take this to the police, they can probably send a team down there-"

"no, firstly it's dark out, he'll likely be on the surface stalking his next victim right now, and they'd only succeed in scaring him away.

Even if they took my advice and waited until morning with the aucoustics of the sewers he'd likely hear them long before they got to his liar, and he'd be long gone by the time they got there."

"so what do we do?"

The taller one drew his coat just a little closer as his companion shivered with the cold.

"I brought some survallence equipment with me, it's nothing fancy, but I should be able to hide it in some of the bushes or on a lamppost near the areas he could be getting out of the sewer. But other than that until morning all we can do is find somewhere that sells cheap galoshes

and wait."

John seemed a little unsatisfied with this answer, but followed him back to the hotel anyway.

The man considered abandoning his stake out to follow them, but decided against it.

He would deal with them later, for now he had bigger things to worry about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sherlock was glaring at the map of the sewers he had jerryrigged together. While the blueprints were helpful in finding their way around, they failed to mention the various cave ins that had occurred in many of the tunnels, although they seemed to be on the right track, John was starting to lose patience, and despite his love of the game, he knew he would lose if he met the killer by himself. **

The man obviously had some sort of fast acting sedative in his arsenal

(how else could he kill so quietly?) and despite the noise John made stomping around the sewers he couldn't ask for better back up (or bait depending on how things went)

John snorted a little in his sleep and Sherlock wondered at how he could even think about sleeping with the matter at hand. Though to, be honest, while the day had been irritating for him, it had been awful for John.

One of the tunnels had left John waist deep in sewage, and while Sherlock had to be careful wading through the filthy water, he had a much easier time of it, and hadn't managed to slip and fall and get completely soaked.

He considered plastering a fourth nicotine patch to his arm (as it was quite possible this was more than a three patch problem) but even he knew that was pushing it.

He was about to reach for the fourth patch when he heard someone fiddling with the door.

Sherlock silently stepped out of the line of sight and held his breath as the last latch clicked open.

The man who stepped inside was wearing a cheap jacket and a baseball hat; the man seemed to hone in on the sleeping John.

Sherlock couldn't see what he was doing to John, but knew that, as a rule, strangers who picked locks rather than knocking on doors rarely had good intentions.

So just as the man pulled out what looked like a knife, Sherlock already had his violins bow in hand, and he proceeded to beat the man about the head with it.

Obviously the stranger hadn't thought he was going to be met with resistance, so he ran off easily, but Sherlock couldn't stop him from taking the map.

"John! Wake up!" He shouted, John managed a drowsy mumble, so Sherlock gave him a hard slap on the face, that managed to at least rouse him partially.

"whassat for?"

"We've just been robbed, now get some clothes on, we got to catch him before he gets away"

Obviously whatever drug the

Man had administered to John had very short term effects, as John was already starting To become fully awake. He winced and held his cheek.

"good lord Sherlock, did you really have to slap me THAT hard?"

"it was the only way. Now hurry, I only managed to frighten him off, but we can still catch up to him if we hurry."

John fumbled with his coats and his boots. He stumbled after Sherlock as he ran down the hall towards the stairs.

At this point John realized something was wrong with his motor functions

"Sherlock, you didn't drug me to prove a point or something did you?"

He rolled his eyes.

"John that was ONE time , and no, our killer did. "


	7. Chapter 7

John and Sherlock spent the rest of the night, and most of the day trying to track down the thief/murder suspect. John was about to collapse by the time that he managed to convince Sherlock  
that they should give up on finding the map. John was too tired to worry much about the prospect of the thief breaking in and trying to murder him again by the time they got back to the hotel; In fact  
he hadn't even though of it until Sherlock brought it up.

In a moment of human insight that was unusual for him, Sherlock suggested that John try and get some sleep there while he tried to find a new hotel on the other side of town.  
Although John had learned very quickly that these acts of kindness were rarely simply for the sake of being kind, he was too tired to protest.  
It wasn't until housekeeping woke him up the next morning that he realized his mistake.

John tried checking many of the usual places for any sign of Sherlock, and he eventually resorted to going to the local police department, who didn't have  
any idea of what to do if they didn't know where to look.

By the time he stopped looking, it was well beyond nightfall, and John was being to get the horrible sinking feeling that the next time he saw Sherlock, it would be in the morgue. As he was trying  
to cope with this idea, John heard something scratching on the door, and the unmistakable sound of tumblers being forced into place.  
somewhere deep down inside of him, John hoped it would be Sherlock, despite the fact he'd taken his room key with him, John wouldn't put it past him  
to either have lost it or have decided to test a theory about how the thief opened the door.

However his common sense and growing panic, and oddly, rage caused him to get out the military issue hand gun he kept in his luggage, and aim it at the door.  
When the final tumbler was forced into place, the door swung open. It didn't take long for John to recognize the man in the room next to him, it was very hard to miss his  
scar. John disengaged the safety, and aimed it at the man's head.

"You know, I could kill you right where you stand, and I could probably get away with it too" John said. Although his body shook a little with anger, his aim remained steady,  
he knew that if he fired right now, he couldn't miss; but the man standing in the doorway (who had slowly raised his hands into the air at John's urging)  
narrowed his eyes, just a hint of irritation and anger flaring in them.  
"Then why have you not?" he asked  
"Because you're going to answer one very simple question"  
"And what would that be?"  
"What The HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO SHERLOCK?!"  
-

* * *

Sherlock moaned a little as he started to regain consciousness. His first impression was the collection of bruises that were starting to form  
on key points of his body, and of the aching in his limbs and the pounding in his head. When he opened his eyes, he immediately began analyzing the situation; although everything was dim and blurred, he could  
tell that his wrists had been bound, judging by the sound of water swishing back and forth, as well as the echo, he knew he was in the sewers, judging by the lack of  
street noise coming from above it was probably an isolated section. In an attempt to try to fight off the last dregs of whatever he'd been drugged with, Sherlock groggily shook his head.  
When his vision finally cleared there was a skull floating in front of his face.  
He glared at it, but he wasn't at all afraid or impressed.  
He did, however recoil a little at the stench, which resembled an unsavory mixture of rotting flesh and feces, he noted that he appeared to be upside down.  
"ah it is awake" a voice said.  
Sherlock craned his neck and was slightly surprised to see that the killer apparently had mottled purple skin.  
The ugly creature grinned and lightly kicked the skull in front of his face so that the disgusting sludge splashed him in the face, barely avoiding his mouth and going up his nose; as well as cause the skull to bob.  
"Say hello to your little friend"


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter is going to be short (as with the erratic nature of finals, I don't have much time to write and plan out long ones) and for those of you who might be reading this because you are patiently waiting for an update on "We have always thought so" or "The Dovahkiin and the mad man" Don't worry, I've got most of the story planned out, it's just taking a might longer than expected to implement it**

"dull" Sherlock murmured under his breath.  
"What does it mean by dull? Young Murlough doesn't understand" the creature ("Young Murlough" apparently) asked tilting it's head.  
"Look at yourself, living in the sewers, tying me up and hanging me from the ceiling, upside down no less, and talking in third person... It's just that this all just seems so... Cliché."

He gave a fake yawn

"And to think, I was hoping this case was going to be interesting"

* * *

"I assume that this Sherlock is the tall man with the violin?" The man asked.  
"Yes, now where is he?"  
"Actually I came here looking for him"  
"Why? So that you can kill him like you tried to kill me?"  
The man rolled his eyes  
"No, First of all I was not trying to kill you, and second of all I was actually going to ask him for his help."  
John laughed  
"To do what? catch the real killer?"  
the man blushed, John laughed again, this laugh had no real mirth in it though, just irritation.  
"And I suppose you were going to tell us some story about being with the police?"  
The man fixed his eyes on John, and growled.  
"Who is to say I am not?" he said with indignation  
"First of all, you're wearing way too much red, if you were really with the police, you would be trying to blend in more."  
"And You got that from my clothes?" He asked, just a little surprised,  
"Well, that and the fact that you didn't show me a badge when I pulled a gun on you, that's a big clue"  
The man, hands still in the air, stared at John for a few more minutes, before speaking.  
"I will tell the truth then, but only because we do not have much time, as you guessed, I am not police; However I have been  
tracking down the killer for more... personal reasons"  
"so you're a vigilante?" John asked, the stranger nodded.  
"In a way, yes. But you must also know that this man, is not human"  
John grumbled under his breath, obviously this man was completely insane. The man narrowed his eyes.  
He twitched, and suddenly John wasn't the one holding the gun any more  
"HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?!"  
The man smiled and lowered his arms, he walked over to the horrified John and casually handed him his gun back.  
"You see, I am not so human myself."  
John stared at him for a few moments, then he sighed, resigning himself to this new found fact of his reality for the time being.  
The longer he debated over wheither or not what clearly had just happened happened, and even more importantly, how; was a moment that he  
so desperately needed so that he could find Sherlock alive.

But whiether what was happening was madness or actual fact, John just needed one last peice of imformation before he could commit to it fully.  
"If you're not human... then what exactly are you?"  
The man, glanced over his shoulder at John and gave him a dry smile.  
"Vampire, Now time is vital, if 'Sherlock' is not with you, then it is certain that he is with the killer. it will not take long for  
him to realize the truth and get bored with him, or get annoyed."  
John grumbled under his breath.  
"knowing Sherlock, it'll probably be the second one"


	9. Chapter 9

"Alright so if you're a vampire, why did you break into the hotel room, couldn't you have just I don't know, turned into a bat or something."  
"No that is stupid"  
John raised an eyebrow impatiently as he followed the man down the street.  
"why is it stupid?" John asked.  
The man turned around and glared at him.  
"Can you turn into a bat?" He asked, to which john shook his head no.  
"There you go"  
there was a moment of silence as they walked down the streets to god knows where, which John broke.  
"Alright then, if you just wanted the map, why did you try to kill me?"  
"I was not going to kill you!" he yelled, then he remembering he was in public, and lowered his voice a little.  
"The fact of the matter is that I have not fed in two days and I believed that... Well as long as I was there and no one, at least I thought that there was no one, awake I could take advantage of that while 'borrowing' your map"  
John decided to humor him.  
"well why not feed off of Sherlock then."  
"the reason is that he reeks "  
"you didnt try to drink from him.. Because he... Smells? But that doesn't make any sense, Sherlock's extremely clean, he's obsessed with making sure nothing gets 'contaminated'"  
The man shook his head and wrinkled his nose.  
"this is not a matter of his personal hygiene, but of the astronomical amounts of nicotine in his blood. Nicotine can cause the scent of a human to become similar to one of my kind, and at that amount it could cause me to experience symptoms similar to 'food poisoning' which I cannot afford to deal with at the moment, and not only are you in nearly perfect health, but you were also the only person I saw  
when I came in; Sherlock just happened to have been hiding behind something."

John was quiet for a few minutes. Despite the fact that he was playing along with the self proclaimed "vampire" he still had his doubts as to whiether or not  
what was occuring was real or if whatever drug was in his system hadn't fully worn off quite yet, one question seemed to be pacing back and forth in  
his head.  
Eventually, despite the fact that time was really a matter of life or death, John couldn't stand it anymore.

"Alright, let's say that I believe that you are, in fact a vampire, and that you aren't just the murderer make up a story so that you can get  
me somewhere secluded to slaughter me. What makes you any better than the killer? I'm assuming that you're both vampires so-"

The man whirled on him so quickly that he hardly had time to blink.  
"I am nothing like him"  
John knew that at this range, drug induced delusion or not, the man was fast enough to kill him before he could fire, this terrorfied John, a fact  
that seemed to be reflected in the other man's eyes. His shoulder slumped a little, and started walking again.

There were a few moments of silence before the man finally spoke.  
"I do not kill when I drink" he said  
when John didn't say anything, he continued  
"Murlough is what my kind call a Vampaneze, they believe that it is honorable to kill when they feed, and My kind believe the opposite. That it is a mark of restraint and that to kill when you  
feed, except for a few dire circumstances, is wrong."  
John thought for a few minutes  
"So let's say that I believe that, then why aren't there more crimes like this?" John asked  
"Well first of all Murlough is mad, most vampaneze are not only more careful about choosing their prey and disposing of the bodies, but they also have a tendency to feed less. In addition, they usually live either live at least 30 miles away from  
where they hunt or are constantly on the move... the human phrase 'Don't shit where you eat' is a good way of discribing it. Another reason why these killings are so uncommon is that  
most mad vampaneze tend to keep their distance from big cities such as these, so that they do not run the risk of accidentally running afoul of a vampire."

"So why is err 'Murlough' here now?" John said, raising an eyebrow.  
"Because he is trying to get my attention. He knows, even in his madness, that he is getting old, and thus getting weaker. Soon he will be unable to hunt on his own, and when that comes to pass, he will most likely starve to death; By coming here he hopes to prevent this, as well as take me down with him."

"But why here? and Why them? There has to have been another way to get your attention" John said

The man shrugged  
"Possibly, but this way was the only one that garuanteed that I would come"  
This confused John even further, and the man seemed to sense this.  
"200 years ago I was born here, and until the day I ran away, I grew up here. Even though these streets look different then they did in my time, it was still my first home. Somewhere in this town, my parents and sisters and brothers are buried, and quite a few of  
my living realitives reside here as well... and I can not simply stand by and let them be slaughtered." The man said, sounding a little wistful.  
"Alright, but what does this have to do with Sherlock?" John asked, trying to keep up as the man's pace quickened.  
"Sherlock, although I do not know how, managed to follow me as I was staking out the man who Murlough intended to be his latest victim. When  
I was about to make my move, he tackled me, and alerted Murlough to my prescence. It is possible that he believes that Sherlock is somehow important to me, and will try to use him to infuriate me so that I will do something stupid."

"Like what?"  
They stopped, John had been too focused on what the man (err vampire) was saying that he hadn't noticed that they were walking towards a sewer entrance.  
The man took a deep breath, and sighed.  
"something like this."

**Alright So here's the deal unfortunately I have forgotten how Murlough speaks (except for the "Clever Boy? Hmmm?) So despite the fact that I REALLY REALLY want to post more chapters, one of two things needs to happen first. **

**1. I have to find my copy of "Tunnels of Blood" which was either lost in the move or in one of the boxes in the back of the laundry room**

**2. Someone IMs me some examples **

**I'm sorry if it seems like I'm holding the story hostage, but I can't continue without this, Hopefully I'll find the book soon. Wish me luck!**


	10. Chapter 10

The man was obscenely hideous, with skin a deep shade of bruised or sunburned purple, and bright red hair and eyes.  
"how did you catch me? It's not like you could have followed me, I took three different cabs to get to and from the slaughter house, though i suppose that sewer tunnels are a much quicker route" Sherlock paused for a moment  
as the man's eyes glinted with a hint of... Pride?  
"Clever boy... Young murlough did not think that Crepsley would have someone so clever, brains aren't something the old vampire doesn't look for in an assistant. Maybe I'll keep them when i send him your head"  
Sherlock kept his lips pressed tightly together as he added this new information into the equation. He had known that the intruder Was Vur Horsten, the man in the next room. He was careful to not show too much of his face, but he noticed the hair, far too bright an orange to be natural and a unique shade not available through a commercial dye, so likely either a homemade dye or some sort of industrial dye not meant for human hair. It would be unlikely that Horston (or Crepsley as he was called) and the intruder accidentally found the same mixture or used the same dangerous chemical s to dye their hair. He also knew that he was not the true culprit. Behavior pattern didn't fit, too habitual to be a coincidence; not habitual enough to be the real killer. So he was involved, possibly he was trying to find the killer himself or assisting in the murders(unlikely given the only reason he would only take the map of the sewers if he did not know where the killers base was) so he followed him to try to confront and interrogate him, which did not go well.  
Apparently not only did the two know each other "murlough" also had some sort of animosity towards Crepsley. He also believed that he was a vampire and that he was his assistant .  
"How did you figure that out?" Sherlock asked, playing along with the lunatic for the time being.  
Murlough gave Sherlock a knowing, taunting smile, making sure to display his blood stained teeth.

"Only his assistant would know enough to track him down, that and your blood was a big clue. Only a vampire's assistant could  
taste that foul"  
This threw Sherlock for a moment, but only for a moment.  
He supposed that enough Nicotine could affect the way his blood tasted, although he'd never thought about it that way.  
This fact that his nicotine addiction had saved his life almost made him smile, but he pushed the irony of the situation to the back of his mind.

He could laugh at it later, right now he had to focus on the matter at hand

* * *

Crepsley stopped as John struggled through the muck and tried to keep up with the vampire's faster pace. Compared to this, keeping up with Sherlock was a cake walk.

Eventually, after stopping for the fourth or fifth time to let John catch his breath, Crepsley gave a sigh.

"Perhaps I should continue on my own? I would be able to search the tunnels far faster by myself than I would if I have to wait for you to catch up."

John's eyes flared at this. He'd survived five tours in Afghanistan, So the fact that the man (vampire, madman or whatever he really was) felt that he wasn't up to a few hours in the sewers infuriated him.

"No, I can keep up, and if 'Murlough' is strong as you said he is, you're going to need back up."

even though visibility was almost nothing down there, John thought he saw a look of admiration flicker across his face.

He gave a slight sigh then started walking back towards John.

"You are right, even though Murlough is not a young vampeneze; I am also not as strong as I used to be, and trudging through the tunnels and hoping that we come upon his lair by chance will not help."

John was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke.

"Actually, I think I might have one. But we'll need to get something from the hotel first"

_**Sorry for the arguably crappy and short chapter. -_-' But this one is more for plot advancement than anything else. Next chapter Sherlock analyzes Murlough and works to free himself while John puts his plan into action (sort of) **_


End file.
